


we tried the world, good god, it wasn't for us

by insertcleveracejoke



Series: the bookstore AU [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, But this Michael has an anchor, Gertrude cheerfully sacrificing her assistant off screen, Kissing, M/M, So canon compliant on that, Theres like one mention of blood, Yes I know these warnings are mutually exclusive yes i do stand for them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23216227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insertcleveracejoke/pseuds/insertcleveracejoke
Summary: "Don't trust Gertrude" had been one of the first things Gerry had told him, and one of the very, very few Michael had chosen to not believe.How couldn't he? Gertrude was just an old lady, harmless and sweet, who tolerated his fussing with longstanding patience. Why shouldn't Michael trust her? What could she even do to him?Staring at the door that should not exist on an island that didn't, Michael thought he knew now.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Series: the bookstore AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1655809
Comments: 21
Kudos: 342





	we tried the world, good god, it wasn't for us

_ Don't trust Gertrude _ had been one of the first things Gerry had told him, and one of the very, very few Michael had chosen to not believe.

How couldn't he? Gertrude was just an old lady, harmless and sweet, who tolerated his fussing with longstanding patience. Why shouldn't Michael trust her? What could she even do to him?

Staring at the door that should not exist on an island that didn't, Michael thought he knew now.

He did not want to open the door and go in. He did not, and still Michael knew that he had to, knew that Gertrude had not been lying when she said that the fate of the world depended on this. Something inside of him wanted to rage- why should Michael sacrifice himself to save the world, he who had not ever been handed anything that hadn't been dearly paid for in sweat and tears and blood? Let someone else do this, let Gertrude cross the doorstep herself. Why shouldn't Michael just let this  _ end  _ and  _ finish  _ and be  _ done  _ with it, why shouldn't he watch the world Twist and Change and feel himself laugh as everything ceased to exist in the way it always had-...

… -but Gerry Keay was a part of this world.

Michael's hand found the doorknob.

The hallway was unlike the world outside. The island had not existed, but had not existed passively, as the background to everything else that was happening in it. The corridor was aggressive in its nonexistence. It forced his brain to stare at the proof of a world he did not understand and never would, put a soft organ that had evolved to think in terms of food and survival to contemplate things it was not capable of. The proof of nonexistence hurt. It would not take long for the exposure to change him- he had a map, and his own mind, and a body, and two of these three, he knew, would be twisted.

A mirror broke under his fist, something shattering in his mind, and Michael Shelley carried on.

Michael knew pain- had known pain the shape of bruises and cuts, in the form of a knife to his flesh, the dizzy and tempting call of the dark. He had never known pain like this, in something that started and ended in his perception of what could not be perceived, not when he had not been its direct victim before. Would it have been as bad, Michael wondered, had he not known the nature of the not place he was in? Would the hallway have been kinder to someone who was unaware that It Was Not What it Was?

His fingers started to warp and twist with the third broken mirror.  _ How many years of bad luck for this?  _ Michael thought, clutching a bloodied not-quite-hand to his chest. Something that had not been him before wept as well.  _ My entire life. _

The hallway became less jarring the deeper he went into it. Michael didn't even try to pretend that it wasn't due to the thing he was becoming. _I am Michael_ _Shelley_ , he told it, and it laughed and cried and twisted him into something Else. _I am Michael Shelley. I have always been Michael Shelley._

_ Have you?,  _ said the Thing That Wasn't.  _ Have you not existed long before you were born? Were you not this? Were you not me? _

_ I am Michael Shelley. I work for The Magnus Institute. I- _

_ Are you? Do you? You are not who you are. You are fear and an open mouth full of teeth you cannot see. You are something that cannot be explained. You are not yourself. You're not anyone. You are not. _

_ I- I am- _

Was he?

Had he ever been?

The entity formerly known as Michael Shelley hesitated. It did not want to be here. It did not want to be. To nonexist unraveled of meaning seemed like a life so much easier than what one of its components had known before, full of complications and blood and- hands.

It looked down at what could be generously described as its hands. No, not these. Rougher hands, covered in burn scars and eye tattoos, gentle on his skin. Hands that were connected to strong arms that were connected to-  _ what meaning does this have, don't you want to unmake yourself, don't you want to divest yourself from all that can be known and seen and understood-  _ someone he had called Gerry.

Meaning. Bells ringing as a real door opened. The sunlight falling on badly dyed hair and a face that had not been well loved, but was now, because he could not help but love. Brown, brown, brown eyes. A crooked tooth in a playful smile. What did this mean? Why did this matter?

It- He- The Thing That Was Not What It Had Been was tired. It wanted to go home. In a way, it argued, it  _ was  _ its own home, and did not need to go anywhere. It did not listen to itself. It wanted to go home. 

It really wanted to go home.

So it did.

It could not walk, for it had no feet, but it did not need to. A door that was not there before opened.

The entity formerly known as the Spiral went through it-

… -and felt itself fall into the safest arms it had ever known.

"Michael?"

Ah, so that was its name. How silly for it to have forgotten. Wasn't it lucky that its home remembered? (But of course he did. The most familiar voice would never have forgotten. It meant safety, and safety meant names.)

If safety meant names, so- "Gerry", it said, and did something that could be called a smile. "Gerry."

"That's me," his home said, in a voice that was at the same time panicked and firm. How nice of it, to be so many things at the same time! How very delightful! "What- are you hurt?"

"I am in agony", Michael cheerfully informed its home.

He made a bad sound, a hurt sound, and The Thing That Was Not frowned.

"It's okay," it informed him, confused. "I'm here now."

H-  _ Gerry _ , his name was  _ Gerry _ , seemed to very much want to clutch a waist that did not exist at the moment. Michael, ever so helpful, formed one for him. It was rewarded for that by being immediately hugged tightly.

"Michael," Gerry said.

"That is a name," it said, and quickly added- "My name. Right? I'm pretty sure it is. I've been called by so many names before, though. It's hard to remember."

"You came here."

"I did! I'm not sure how. I'm not sure of much, though. I just- Michael just wanted to go home."

"You're Michael. You- You can't not be. You're Michael Shelley."

"From the Magnus Institute."

"From the  _ Blink  _ Bookstore," Gerry snapped. "From-"

Michael smiled, delighted. "Feeling possessive already? It's okay, Gerry dear."

It watched with rapt attention as Gerry's face gained color. 

"Beautiful," it breathed, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. "So beautiful."

"Wh- is this the Spiral? Is- Are you- did you  _ eat _ Michael?"

"Yes. And yet, no. It was-"

-pain. It had been pain, and it was now. It had never stopped. It never would.

Gerry caught him, had  _ already  _ caught him before it was necessary, lowering them both down to the floor, and it was a testament to how much agony Michael was in that it didn't even blush in response to being in Gerry's lap.

The Thing That Was Michael was being torn apart and put back again wrong. It- had always been wrong, and had never been-  _ no. _

_ Let go. This would be easier. I know how to balance paradoxes better than Michael does. It would hurt less. _

_ No. _

_ Don't you want to- _

_ No. No. This is- This is not acceptable. _

He would not be made to live in a half existence. Michael would not be his own murderer, the weapon and the corpse all at the same time. It- he had always shaped himself at the image other people had wanted him to, had remade himself, had done so often enough that it was not,  _ could not  _ be impossible now.

What was one more big twisting?

"Gerry," he gasped, and felt the hold get tighter. 

"Michael? Michael, is that you?"

"Not yet," he said. "But I will be."

"How can I help?"

Michael could not see Gerry's expression, not when he was being held this close, but he did not need to. His voice sounded just the same, and it was more determined than it had ever been.

"Hold me together."

"Yes," Gerry said, relief in all that was him. "Of course. Always."

It hurt. Existing hurt, now, and perhaps it always would, but this hurt more- grabbing shards of what had once called himself Michael Shelley, feeling the existence of a self cut like glass at the edges of what could only barely be called a human mind. There was not enough left, and too much of something else, to be glued back into the exact same shape.

That was okay. He did not  _ need  _ to be exactly the same. If Michael was to be a person, both of them knew that he was going to change. What mattered was the structure, the foundation and the bare bones on which he was going to remake himself in his own image. That was the essential, the memories and the feelings and the soul. Michael didn't need to be the same, he needed to- despite the pain it brought his new nature- be able to be recognized as himself.

_ That  _ was doable. It took hours, but hadn't it taken decades the first time?

Finally, he started to feel like he really was Michael.

(But of course he was. He wouldn't have gone to Gerry otherwise.)

The man that called himself Michael pulled himself up, finally looking at Gerry's face again, and- froze, for a second. It didn't seem possible that he had forgotten about the way deep brown eyes felt like the ground under his feet. How could so much of himself have slipped away that he had forgotten about it? 

Gerry looked disheveled- not strictly in a good way- and yet, his entire being sagged in relief when he saw Michael's expression. "It's you."

"It's me," Michael agreed. And because it was him, he pulled Gerry closer.

His tattooed cheeks felt warm and soft and so very human under Michael's hands. His lips felt better.

This new body was taller than the old one, even taller now that it found itself in a lap, and the angle was awkward. Fingers that had been reshaped into dullness grabbed the back of Gerry's head, pulling it back by his hair just gently enough for it not to hurt. The man let out a  _ sound _ that remade Michael's heart anew. 

He congratulated himself for having made a waist when Gerry clutched it for dear life. The man under him tipped his chin up just enough, straining to be kissed deeply. And who was Michael to deny him that? No reason to deny himself the pleasure of sipping kisses from a mouth that had remade him in all but name. Let it unmake him in a better way now.

When Michael regretfully pulled back a few minutes later, Gerry looked dazed. 

He could taste joy on his tongue as he watched the man's dilated pupils, his darkened cheeks and thoroughly kissed mouth. 

"You… just kissed me," Gerry finally said.

"I did."

Gerry swallowed. Michael watched his Adam's apple bob with interest, and then realized there was no reason not to kiss it, no reason not to enjoy the taste of Gerry's skin on his new tongue. The man shivered under his lips.

"Is- is this the Spiral, or-"

"It's Michael," he said. "It's always been Michael."

His breath fluttered, hot on Michael's skin. How beautiful was it to be able to see him like this? 

"Good," Gerry said.

And then kissed him.


End file.
